in at your leisure.”
My face heats up as I stare at Mrs. Potter with wide eyes. “He said that?” Indignation turns my saliva sour.
Mrs. Potter clutches her hands in front of her hips, and dips her head down. “Are you calling me a liar, girl?” Her eyes dart down, narrow, and then she leaves via the study door.
Rose is feeding from the bottle. Perhaps she hasn’t noticed the switch, or she’s so sleepy and satisfied it doesn’t matter, but God as my witness, she’s—
The babe’s eyes pop open as if I’d been projecting my thoughts out loud. Then she spits out the bottle, and opens her mouth to begin wailing in protest. I press my eyes closed, let out a sigh and end her demanding cries before they begin.
I go back to my room when Rose is asleep in the crib. I’d hoped to catch a glimpse of Brandon, wanting to demand an explanation from him, but he seems to have disappeared from the manor. Perhaps he was away on business. Perhaps he’d stay away until the end of winter.
It shouldn’t, but the thought saddens me. The manor was dour before, but now it seems every damn brick in this place was constructed out of loneliness and desperation.
Feeling blue again, Pippa?
I rub my hands over my eyes and will away Howard’s voice. The last thing I need right now is his condescension.
The fire spits in the hearth, drawing my eye. I stare at it, and for a long time I can’t decide if I’m glad there isn’t a clock in this room…or if it might be the only thing to keep me sane.
My skin starts crawling, and I scratch my nails along the inside of my arm until I’m leaving behind bright red marks. I decided to change into my nightgown, since it’s obvious I’m not seeing the outside of this room again until the morrow. Supper should have been served by now, but it seems I wasn’t on the guestlist this time.
Did I anger the baron in some way? Is he considering sending me home? The thought brings a chill to my bones that the heat flowing from the fireplace can’t thaw.
I need this job. Not just for the wages — although God knows I was a few pennies away from starvation — but for the distraction. Ever since the agency contacted me and informed me I’d been accepted, the gray clouds that had been suffocating my mind withdrew. I’d glimpsed blue sky and sunshine for the first time since Howie…For the first time in what feels like months.
It’s been less than a fucking week. That how quick you forget about us? One fucking week?
I lick my lips, get to my feet, and begin to pace. There’s not much room for that in this room, but it’s better than perching at the foot of the bed, being hypnotized by the fire.
Fire.
The smell of burned wood fills my nose. It has nothing to do with my little fireplace here — it comes from memory.
That warped door.
Locked.
The baron’s warning.
Curiosity burns in me until I cannot push it aside any longer.
Just stretching my legs. That’s all. Not enough space in here, in this Godawfully small room. I’ll just pace outside in the hallway until I’m rid of this nervous energy. Then I can fall asleep, tomorrow will come, and the world will be a better place once—
That’s what you always think. But it’s not, is it? Nothing you do makes your world a better place.
I turn the knob, but the door doesn’t open.
Goose flesh pimples my arms. I step back and rub my hands over my exposed flesh.
I never heard the key turning in the lock.
How long have I been here? When did Mrs. Potter lock me inside?
I hug myself even harder, until my nails dig into my flesh, and even then it’s not tight enough. I spin around and scan the tiny cavity I’ve been shoved into, left to rot until someone remembers I serve a purpose and comes to extricate me.
The knob rattles as I will it to open under my hand, to turn. The old, clammy metal leaves the smell of tin—
Blood, so much blood, Howard’s blood
—On my hands.
I pivot, scan the room again, desperate for even the slightest hint that there’s more to the world right now than these four walls.
And then I see it.
A trick of the light; flames dancing on the craggy walls.
But when I hurry over and run my hands over that line, it becomes